


Day 1: Sinful Thoughts

by aimeejessica



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: 12 Days of Smutmas, F/M, Nun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28024371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimeejessica/pseuds/aimeejessica
Summary: Sister Bernadette finds herself thinking a little too much about Doctor Turner.(Day 1 - Smutmas)
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Comments: 13
Kudos: 23
Collections: Twelve Days of Turnadette Smutmas





	Day 1: Sinful Thoughts

_I lost my mother when I was very young_.

She lay stiff as a board in her bed, her fingers entwined with each other at the top of her heavy bed coverings as she stared at the ceiling above her. Thoughts kept circling in her head at her earlier interaction with the Doctor; the smell of the cigarette he had been smoking mixed with the sterile environment of the prep room still teasing her senses.

She clenched her eyes shut in shame, the memory of her mentioning Timothy replaying as if she could go back in time to change the conversation. She should have known better than to mention the poor boy so close to the anniversary of his mother's passing. 

Was it her poor attempt at finding common ground with the Doctor? Even then, it would give her something in common with his young son, not him. She un-wove her fingers to scrub a hand over her face to try pull her thoughts into check.

_Children are more resilient than you think._

She huffed in frustration, rolling to her side to stare at her nightstand, her eyes falling to the bible that her rounded spectacles sat upon. 

As she replayed her words in her mind, they began to sour; a Nun passing off something that could be seen as parenting advice. She most definitely wasn't, and would not, be a parent; nor was she Timothy's mother or the Doctor's wife. They were nothing more than co-workers to each other, so why had she offered up her opinion? 

She internally scoffed at herself. Sure, she could pass the information off as both a medical professional and a religious Sister, but she had also indulged the Doctor into a glimpse of her life before she took the veil. That was a life she had chosen to leave behind nearly a decade earlier and it had no place being brought into the present.

She wondered if the small smile he had tried to conceal by taking another drag from his cigarette was at the snippet of information she had provided him, or whether it was due to his own thoughts as he had begun to tell her about Timothy's opinions on his cooking. A part of her had hoped it was the former; perhaps there was a silent longing for him to learn about who she had been.

A groan vibrated dangerously low at the back of her throat as she attempted to shake her thoughts of the Doctor from her head. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she emptied her mind, allowing it a moment of silence before settling on her evening routine of reflection and prayer.

_You could have reached out to him, encouraged him to stay for tea. He might have turned down Nurse Franklin's offer, but would he have turned yours?_

Her moment of solitude was short lived as thoughts of him came barrelling through the wall she attempted to put up in her mind. 

If the smile he had weakly tried to hide was anything to go by, she wondered if the outcome would have been different. The Nun's and nurses could have been regaled by the young boy and the newest facts he had uncovered, while she may have been entertained by a little more than the sombre moment that she and the Doctor had shared.

He had spoken of his son and how he was getting along since his mother's passing, but little more than that. She shouldn't expect to find herself privy to how _he_ was coping but she couldn't help but wonder.

She knew they had a housekeeper, but little more than that. She made the assumption that after Doctor Turner completed his duties for the day, he would still have to come home and cook for the pair of them, possibly spend the evenings entertaining the boy and undoubtedly helping him with any homework he had been assigned.

She understood that there were certain aspects of childhood where Timothy would need his mother; something his father would try to provide the boy, but it would never be quite the same. 

Her mind quickly thought back to her own childhood where she would come home and want nothing more than to curl up into her mother's arms, seeking the comfort and warmth she would provide. And while her father took it upon himself to provide her the shelter she wanted; it was never quite the same as when she still had her mother. 

She also knew from first-hand account that her father would turn to the bottle when he thought she had settled down for the night. Over the course of her childhood, he had slowly turned into the shell of the man he once was. He had eventually withdrawn from social events and from ever finding another woman's companionship. He became quiet around the house, miserable and slowly disinterested in everything to do with his life; the final straw was when he had neglected himself, and her, before the drink sent him to an early grave.

Goosebumps covered her body as she became uncomfortable reliving her childhood. She shifted in her bed, returning to her back, her eyes unfocused and seemingly staring through the ceiling. 

Her thoughts ran wild as she wondered if their good Doctor would end up the same way as her father had done. He had made it through the first year without his late wife relatively unscathed, but her own experience made her wonder for how long would he be able to survive.

The thought of him becoming recluse gnawed at her. He was caring and compassionate, and he had suffered a great blow by losing his beloved. If he were to follow in the same footsteps as her father, she wondered how it would impact Timothy and the community at large.

His constant need to overwork himself meant he already had to leave his son home alone during late night call outs, it meant his friend group was already limited to the women he worked with. A group of Nuns and nurses would never be a true substitute for a maternal presence for Timothy, nor would it substitute a true female presence in his life.

She found herself playing with the silver band on her right ring finger at the direction her thoughts now took. Had Doctor Turner sought companionship with a woman since his wife's death? 

Sister Bernadette, ever observant, noticed he still wore his wedding ring. Her brow furrowed at the thought of the Doctor courting someone while he still carried the memory of his late wife with him for all to see. She tried to reason with her theories, some women didn't care if a man was wed or not, and neither did some men. 

A pang of jealousy hit her low in her stomach at the thought of the Doctor courting someone and she growled dangerously. It wasn't her place to be jealous over something so trivial; she was a Nun and so whatever went on in the Doctor's personal life was of little concern to her. 

Yet here she was, unable to shake the feelings brewing in her.

She had put the feeling down to not wanting to see her poor Doctor chase after women who weren't worth his time, women who would inevitably leave him heartbroken; he had suffered enough heartbreak to last a lifetime. 

Attempting to reason with herself again, she thought of Timothy. What would happen to him were his father to be seeing women with a ring on his finger? Rumours would fly, possibly ruining his reputation, and trickling down to ultimately affect the boy.

The Turner's needed someone safe and stable in their lives; someone who would cherish them and love them as Marianne once had.

_Someone like who? Like you?_

She felt her body flush at her internal monologue, and she felt herself grow warm under the covers. She had never allowed that thought to come to the fore of her mind, but after the smile he had given to her, his kind eyes piercing her soul and daring her to open up to him, she couldn't help herself.

A nervous and warm energy began pumping its way through her veins and while the feeling wasn't unwelcome, it was unexpected. She knew exactly what her body was doing as she continued to think about the Doctor; after all, it was only natural.

_Not for a Nun._

She wanted to indulge her body's cry for attention as her mind waged war on itself. Her vocation prevented her from giving into basic desires however, the woman that seemed lost under the weight of the cloth clawed at her chest, wanting to break free. 

It wouldn't be the first time the petite Nun had found her former self needing to see the light of day again.

She tentatively reached a hand for the cap upon her head, sending a silent prayer up to the Almighty for forgiveness. Her cap came away as her hand ran over it with practiced movement and immediately, she felt as if a burden had been lifted from her. She lay the fabric over her bible on her nightstand; if it was out of sight, it was out of mind. 

Sliding herself up her bed and into a seated position, she leaned her back against the headboard before pulling the pin from her hair, tangling her fingers in the golden waves. She let out a relieved sigh as her hair tumbled down to her shoulders. 

Her head fell back against the board behind her, her eyes fluttering closed as her mind drifted back to Doctor Turner. A smile pulled at the corner of her lips as she thought about his distinct scent; cigarettes and aftershave.

The smell of tobacco took her back once more to her childhood, it was a familiar scent and for a long time it had been the smell of home. That was until her father had become recluse and she had begun to resent the aroma. On Doctor Turner though, she was transported to the happier memories of her childhood; the feeling of being safe and loved.

Her stomach flipped excitedly as she thought about him being safe and loving. Her mind wandered again, her fingers nervously playing with the buttons of her nightdress, an attempt to keep her occupied.

Their fingers had almost brushed as she had handed him the bag of freshly sterilised equipment only a few hours earlier. There was no need for them to touch because, like electricity, a jolt had jumped the gap and shocked them both.

Or, at least her.

The nervous motions of her fingers on buttons had turned into a desire to rid herself of her nightdress, flicking open buttons one after the other as the cool night air attached itself to her already flushed, bare chest. 

She slid herself back down under the covers, a sudden and overwhelming need to cover her exposed flesh as inappropriate thoughts clouded her mind.

_Why couldn't you just do up your buttons and be done with this wicked fantasy?_

She pushed the thought to one side. Right now, she wanted to be Shelagh; her Sister Bernadette persona needed to take a backseat. Above everything, she was a human woman with wants, needs and desires like everyone else.

She wondered how it would have felt if their fingers had grazed as she handed over the bag of surgical tools. She wondered whether his hands would feel dry from years for constant washing; if they were, she imagined how easily they would slide over hers, the lack of moisture preventing them from hitching in a clammy mess.

She allowed one of her hands to run over the clothed portion of her body, gliding easily across the cotton, before it came to rest on her hip, her fingers drumming on the bone nervously as if considering her next move. Her fingers stilled for a moment before pulling gently on her nightgown, relishing the feel of the hem dragging up the length of her legs.

While the one hand clutched at the ruched cotton at the top of her thighs, she clenched her eyes shut as she allowed her free hand to work its way across her chest and under the fabric of her nightdress. Her fingers tentatively drew small patterns over her soft flesh, tracing the swell of her breast as she fantasised about it being his hands on her instead of her own.

A new wave of desire flushed through her body as her thoughts continued to stay centred on the Doctor, her nipples twisting themselves into hardened peaks and a heat throbbing between her legs. 

Her nervousness about touching herself was suddenly gone as primal instincts to pleasure herself clouded her rational mind. The hand that rested on her hip began to draw lazy lines over her knicker covered pubic mound, and the hand caressing her chest roughly grabbed at her breast.

“Ohhh,” her lips parted, allowing a small moan to escape.

Her legs parted under the covers, an instinctive desire to have something, or _someone_ , between them. With one hand occupied with her breast, moving between the left and right, stopping every few moments to pinch at her nipples, she let her other slide down to cup herself.

Her knickers were damp as her fingers stroked over the fabric, feeling the heat of her arousal as she gave in to the desires of the flesh. Feeling slightly bolder, she brought her hand up, hooking it under the waistband of her underwear where she was met with a thatch of wiry curls. 

Experimenting a little, she plucked at a few of the hairs, relishing in the pleasure that ricocheted throughout her body. 

She had never indulged herself in such a lewd way but now that she had started, she didn't want to stop. Her fingers ceased their teasing tugs, sliding down over each of her swollen lips as she began to study herself. 

She knew the female anatomy well, having spent hours with her nose buried in textbooks and years delivering babies. She couldn't help but think that there was something far more delightful about exploring herself.

_What if it were Doctor Turner? Could you imagine if it were his hands cupping your breasts? Or his fingers flicking at your nipples? Or what if…_

Her thought was cut short as her own fingers had slipped between her folds, seeking out further pleasures. She had subconsciously allowed her fingers to find her core, silky and wet as she lazily dragged her fingers through the arousal and up towards the nub of nerves.

Her back arched and her head pushed deep into her pillow as another moan escaped her, this one louder than the first. Her mind was torn between different desires; she wanted to continue her ministrations on her breast, she wanted to circle wet fingers around the sensitive nerves at the peak of her thighs, and now she wanted to see what it would be like were she to slip a finger inside herself.

_...what if it were his fingers on you, playing you? He would know how to pleasure a woman. He might whisper words in your ear as his body laid alongside you, his fingers touching you as he commented on how aroused you were._

_Goodness, what would he sound like?_

Her body shuddered at the thought of Doctor Turner laying with her, her fingers circling around the sensitive nub; her breath hitched as her nail caught on her clitoris.

"Hmm, Doctor Turner…" the words slipped out of her mouth of their own accord and she was momentarily startled, but she didn't cease her movements.

Bringing her knees up, she dug her heels into the softness of the mattress for grip as her leg muscles tightened. 

She needed more.

Greedily she slid her fingers back down to her entrance, coating them in her arousal. She considered for a moment that perhaps this wasn't appropriate, but she didn't care. She turned her head to allow her cheek to be caressed by her pillow, imagining that it was the Doctor's clothed shoulder that she was snuggling into as his fingers teased her.

_His fingers are bigger than yours._

She dipped her middle finger into herself, only going to the first knuckle to get an idea of the feeling, her palm moving against the ache she felt between her legs.

_He wouldn't stop there._

She met little resistance as she pushed her finger further into herself. She felt greedy; it wasn't enough. 

Boldly, she drew her finger back, placing her ring finger beside it. The Sister Bernadette side of her screamed at her, for she still wore the silver band that signified her vows to her faith and to her God, Shelagh on the other hand, ignored it, lining her fingers up and delving them into her wet centre.

This time she was met with more resistance. She had had expected this; she was still a virgin after all. 

_Perhaps he would ask you if you were okay. He might place a kiss on your forehead as he slowly allowed your body to accommodate his fingers._

She built a steady rhythm, slowly curling her fingers in and out of her, rubbing teasingly at a rough section inside of her. While it was certainly pleasurable, there was a frustration building inside her. 

The hand that had been upon her breast had long since stilled and she realised she could make use of it in others areas. She didn't bother with the teasing caresses that she had become aroused with; she was quick to bring the hand between her legs, allowing her fingers to slide easily around the swollen, sensitive nest.

She pushed her cheek deeper into the pillow as her muscles tightened again and her hips bucked instinctively.

_What if it was his body between your legs? What if it weren't his fingers inside you? How much different would it feel to lay with him?_

As she continued to pleasure herself, vivid images of Doctor Turner kept popping up in her mind. 

His forearms; sleeves rolled.

His hands; big and healing.

His hair; sometimes slicked back, sometimes stupidly messy.

His face; lined with age, an occasional childish glint to his eyes.

And his lips; how she longed to touch them, taste them, allow them on her body.

If she had to describe the pleasure that suddenly had her wanting to scream his name into the quiet night, she wouldn't have been able to.

As her release neared, her toes curled and her heels dug in to the mattress, pushing her hips off the padding beneath her. She found herself holding her breath, gasping when she could hold it any longer.

It started as a a tingling sensation in her extremities, flowing through her limbs as she began to see stars behind her clenched eyes. 

Internal walls began to spasm against her fingers.

_I don’t even know his name._

Her heart thudded erratically in her chest as she succumbed to the orgasm that tore through her. She attempted to bite down on the fabric of her pillow to muffle her moans; the last thing she needed was for someone to hear her amid the Great Silence.

Withdrawing her hands from between her legs she found herself panting as she came down from the euphoric high.

Her emotions were scrambled and she couldn't stop the feeling of sadness and shame that washed over her. 

Tears stung her eyes as they began to pool, falling freely when a sob finally wracked her body.

Whilst she had indulged herself in a whimsical fantasy, she knew nothing would ever come to fruition. First and foremost, she was a Nun and that in itself should have been enough. 

As Sister Bernadette, she felt the need to grab her bible and flee to the sanctuary of the Chapel where she could begin to address her sinful ways and beg for help in finding the right path.

As Shelagh, she couldn't help but think that the Doctor would ever look upon her as anything more than a colleague and that broke her.

Her heart, her body and her soul were divided in a horrible, confused mess. She felt upset, shameful and dirty.

_What have I done?_

Rolling herself to lay face down in her bed, she saw his face in her mind one last time before a sudden wave of exhaustion came over her and sleep began to claim her. 

**Author's Note:**

> This honestly took me so damn long to write. I don't think I would have ever finished it if I didn't have a deadline! Thanks to constant pushing from h4t08 to get this complete, and the support of the rest of the ladies, we have the first chapter.  
> Ha - no pressure, yea?  
> Hope y'all enjoy!


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